The Killer
by ChaosLightning13
Summary: I am the Killer, and I come from the darkness of the starless night to cast down evil and prepare for the coming of the Sun. Fear me, for I am the bringer of the red dawn.
1. The Ring

DISCLAIMERS: I own this story and the character called the Killer.  The Killer's name is not Teruwyn, that's just the name she uses in this story.  Yes, she's female.  Her actual name means 'to shine sun daughter-of.'  That's just a coincidence, actually.  I made up her name, and then translated it just for the heck of it, and it happened to mean something.  I shouldn't have been surprised—my life is full of weird coincidences, as are my fics.  I'm one of the luckiest people alive, and I was born on Friday, May 13th.  If this sounds familiar, it's probably because you've read my fic Chaos at Hogwarts.  In that one, I determined the year Mera was born before I decided on her birthday.  I'll shut up now . . .

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            Call me the Killer, for that is the name given me by the enemy; I shall not tell you my true name, in case you are one of them.

            I am a shadow in the night, silent and deadly.  My mother and father, both royal elves, have long since left Middle-earth on the journey across the Sea.  Well do I remember the day of our parting: I stood by the shore, defying the Sea's call.  My father handed me a plain gold ring, telling me that the Sea would not hold the One Ring forever.  'When the One Ring comes again to Middle-earth, it must be destroyed,' he said.  'The Dark Lord's attention must be drawn away from the true Ring-bearer.  Place upon this ring a web of deceit, so that the Nazgûl will believe it is the One Ring.'

            I returned to Mirkwood, the place I call home.  Prince Legolas was glad to see me.  Apparently he had been worried that I would go across the Sea with my parents.

            'It's good to see you, too,' I said, rushing over to give him a hug.

            Several years later, I saw him at the Council of Elrond.  I was spying, as was my wont, for I am cursed with curiosity to rival that of Peregrin Tûk.  Mostly, I watched Legolas.  However, I do remember Mithrandir telling about his adventures.  ('Ass!  Fool!  Thrice worthy and beloved Barliman!')  And I remember that Froda volunteered to be the Ringbearer.  That was mostly to prevent bloodshed, I think.  Legolas and the Dwerrow—Gimli was the name—had gotten rather worked up about the Ring.  ('I'll be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!  Never trust an Elf!')

            Lovely.  I made a mental note never to let Gimli see me.

            Then Elrond made both Gimli and Legolas members of the Fellowship of the Ring.  Just one more proof that common sense isn't.  At least Mithrandir was also part of the Fellowship.

            So I left, and wandered about, keeping my distance from Rivendell.


	2. Mithrandir's Fall

            One day in the middle of January, I had a disturbing dream: I dreamt that Mithrandir stood on a bridge above an abyss, and he was saying, 'You cannot pass!' He was fighting a monster, a Balrog of Morgoth. The Balrog fell into the abyss, but a tentacle whipped around and grabbed Mithrandir at the last moment. Mithrandir only had time to gasp, 'Fly, you fools!' before falling into the abyss.

            I woke, pondering the significance of the dream. The next evening, I thought I saw a fire. While heading toward the light, I came across Legolas.

            'Teruwyn!' he said, surprised. 'What are you doing way down here?'

            'Keeping an eye on you, what else?' I replied, though this was not entirely true. 'Where is Mithrandir?'

            I looked into his eyes, and saw grief mirrored there. 'He fell to his death in Moria.'

            Bowing my head, I asked, 'Was he fighting a Balrog? Guarding the bridge of Khazad-dûm? Tell me his last words were not, "Fly, you fools!"'

            'They were. How did you learn this?'

            ''Twas a dream. A vision. It came upon me in my sleep, two nights past. Aye, a vision, such as one would encounter in a feverish nightmare, and, upon waking, one would seek comfort, assurance that it was but a dream. But we live in such nightmare times that I receive, not assurance that it was but a dream, nor even ridicule for believing the vision, but confirmation of its truth. Alas! Alas for Mithrandir!'

            'Two nights past. Yes, that would be right. It was not a vision of the future, then, for Mithrandir's fall was two days ago.'

            I had come to a decision without being aware that I was making one. I would follow the Fellowship, staying out of sight. Someone had to keep an eye on them. And, well, it was an excuse to be near Legolas…

            So, in other words, I wasn't thinking straight.

            I followed them all the way to Lothlórien before I regained my senses. I decided to travel around Lothlórien, but I would check on them when they exited the wood.

            'Twas a hard decision to make, for I greatly desired to visit the Golden Wood. But I could not stay near the Ringbearer. My job was to draw the Dark Lord's attention away from the true bearer of the One Ring.


	3. Nazgul

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own LotR, despite my wishes to the contrary. However, I _do_ own the Killer, or, rather, I _am_ the Killer.

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While I went around Lothlórien, I was overtaken by a Nazgûl. The Nazgûl rode a winged monster, so running was not an option. I stood my ground, though a whirlwind blew about me.

'I fear no man, nor beast, nor phantom in the night!' I announced. 'I am the Killer, and I come out of the darkness of the starless night to cast down evil and prepare for the coming of the Sun. Fear me, for I am the bringer of the red dawn!'

It was all bluff, of course. I was terrified, and it was all I could do to keep my voice from quavering. But then, the feeling was nothing new. I felt that way every time I spoke in front of a crowd.

The Nazgûl paused, considering. I drew my sword. The winged monster swooped towards me. My sword pierced the beast's hide. I was knocked off my feet. The monster roared, and flew off. Exhausted, I collapsed.

When I woke, I was in a tent. I heard the voices of Men outside. I sat up as one walked in.

'The sleeping beauty awakens!' he announced.

'Where am I? What day is it?'

'You are in Rohan. The day is January the twenty-seventh. We found you two days ago, near the Silverlode River which is the border of Lothlórien. How do you feel?'

'My arm—my right arm is numb!'

Just then, another man entered the tent. 'What is your name, Elf-Lady?'

'Killer,' I said, trying to massage some feeling back into my arm. 'What's yours?'

'Killer is not an Elvish name.'

'That's right. It's a nickname. I don't trust you. Then again, I don't trust anyone. So are you going to give me your name or not?'

I am Éomer, son of Éomund, and I would advise you to be more polite. We are a week away from Edoras, and King Theoden would not be pleased to be spoken to as you have spoken to me.'

'Lovely,' I sighed. 'I'm still recovering from a fight with a Nazgûl, and you expect me to be polite? There are two Men, a Dwerrow, and four Hobbits loose in Lothlórien, with no woman to watch over them once they come out, and you're taking me to Edoras!'

'Obviously, there is a great tale to accompany this,' said Éomer, 'and I would love to hear it, but we really must be on our way.'

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So it's short. Oh well. I'll type more as soon as I get the chance. Just please review!


	4. Thick Skulls and Fiery Tempers

DISCLAIMERS: I am the Killer. If I said I owned _The Lord of the Rings_, would you really want to dispute my claim? No? Wise answer. As it is, I would prefer to forestall unnecessary bloodshed, and the people in charge of copyright laws are just foolish enough to challenge me, so I will say right now that I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_, as you who live in the twenty-first century call the Red Book. Froda, or Frodo as you know him, wrote the Red Book, so he has ownership of it. Sadly, Froda died several centuries ago, so perhaps the copyright has now passed on to John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, who did the world a great service by translating the Red Book to English, so that all might know the "history of the War of the Ring and the return of the King, as seen by the hobbits."

            We went to Edoras, and I was granted an audience with King Théoden. I spoke for quite some time, using thees and thous and forasmuches, but saying absolutely nothing.

            Then Éomer left for Eastfold, and I set out toward Lothlórien. I lost track of the days, but it was sometime near the end of February or the beginning of March, by the Shire calendar, when I reached Fangorn Forest. I use the Shire calendar because it is so logical, and I do admire logic.

            Far off, I heard voices. They sounded hauntingly familiar.

            'Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine, and more besides.' Now where had I heard that voice before?

            'As for that, the stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Éomer son of Éomund, and am called the Third Marshal of Riddermark.'

            Then Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwerrow Gloin's son warn you against foolish words.' Ah, so 'twas Gimli's voice, which I had heard at Elrond's Council. 'You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you.' _Dwerrows and their thick skulls!_

            Then Éomer spoke. 'I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwerrow, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.'

            And—wonder of wonders!—it was Legolas who spoke next. 'He stands not alone. You would die before your stroke fell.' _Elves and their fiery tempers!_ (Myself included.)

            I had no trouble recognizing Legolas' voice, for we had been friends for the past few thousand years.

            I was too far away to do anything, so I simply went into the forest, hoping that there was someone in the group with enough wits to rectify the situation.

It is short. The next chapter will also be short. I have it written as one long chapter, but I like splitting it into short chapters better, because it means more chances for reviews. Speaking of reviews....Did you notice the button down there, marked 'Go'? Would you please be so kind as to press it?


	5. Helm's Deep

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Savvy? Sorry about that. I'm now obsessed with Pirates of the Caribbean as well as LotR.

A/N (5/25/04): I haven't updated this story in nearly a year. Sorry about the wait everyone! I really don't know why it's taken me so long.

            Remember that Legolas had told me that Gandalf had fallen to his death in Moria. So imagine my surprise when I heard Gimli cry, 'Since Gandalf's head is now sacred, let us find one that it is right to cleave!'

            In retrospect, I should have known. Mithrandir _is_ a wizard, after all, and wizards are mighty hard to kill. Although in _did_ only take a knife in the back to kill Saruman… but that was after Gandalf had broken his staff…

            Never mind.

            Despair began to take me, and a spell came over me. I heard voices, whispering words of death and defeat.

            _The Dark Lord reigns in Mordor._

            _He will not rule the world!_

            _Give up the Ring._

            _I have no Ring!_

            _The Eye sees all in Mordor._

            _You cannot win! There will always be those who fight for freedom._

            _The Ring must go to Mordor._

            'Orodruin in Mordor!' I shouted, breaking the spell. Yes, the Ring must go to Mount Doom.

            A few days later, I stumbled upon a line of people heading out from Edoras. I spotted Legolas among them, and Gimli, and Aragorn—even Mithrandir was there. But I could not see Froda. But of course! Froda had already left, gone to Mordor, to cast the Ring into Orodruin. And Ban would have gone with him. But what about Kali and Pippin?

            We reached our destination, Helm's Deep. Soon we were set upon by an army of Orcs, numbering perhaps ten thousand. I helped in the defense of Helm's Deep, as did Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Mithrandir was nowhere to be seen.

            By the evening, I had realized that it was hopeless. Unless, by some miracle, help arrived, Helm's Deep would fall the next day.

            The miracle's name was Gandalf. He arrived at dawn, and with him were several Huorns. So Mithrandir had taken a trip to Fangorn.

            At this point, I could safely speak to Legolas. Before, he would have insisted that I go to the caves where it was safe. And, curse it all, I probably would have listened to him. I am not particularly fond of heights, and it had been all I could do to keep from fainting when I first looked down from the wall. In addition, I am not particularly claustrophobic, so I would not mind the caves—I say 'not particularly' because all Elves are somewhat claustrophobic.

            Now, I realize that you have been expecting a blow-by-blow account of the Battle of Helm's Deep. Forget it. If you are absolutely dying to know exactly how the battle went, you can read about it in the Red Book. As for my part in the battle, well, I had about twenty arrows in my quiver, maybe a few more, when the battle began, and I had none left when it was over—and I never miss. I also have this vague memory of swinging my sword at a group of Orcs who had somehow gotten past Gimli.

            I fought through the night, struggling against despair. In a state of half-sleep I was, everything obscured by a mist that came from a combination of exhaustion and terror. Mind you, I was not afraid of the Orcs—I was afraid of falling. As I believe I mentioned earlier, I am slightly acrophobic.

            I realized that I was fighting with my sword in one hand and a knife in the other only when I took out one Orc with a knife-thrust while using my sword to block a stab from another. My memory of it all is so hazy that I have no idea how I acquired the knife.

            So, when I finally found Legolas, I leaned my head against his shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

            'Teruwyn!' Legolas was shaking me. I lifted my head, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes.

            'Ung?' I queried intelligently.

            'What is this? Here did you get it?' He was holding out the necklace with the ring on it. He also did not look very happy.

            Wonderful. I debated the pros and cons of fainting, but quickly dispelled the idea. 'It's a fake One Ring, of course. What did you think it was? The real one? I would never agree to bear the One Ring—I hope. Its power of corruption is too great.'

            'So what is the point of a fake One Ring?'

            'Deception. There is a web of deceit woven around it, so the Nazgûl believe that it is the true One Ring. They cannot hinder Froda while their attention is devoted to me.'

            'Did it ever occur to you that your mission is suicidal?'

            'Did it ever occur to Froda that _his_ mission is suicidal?'

            Legolas handed me the necklace and I slipped it over my head, carefully tucking the ring inside my shirt. That being done, I collapsed in a dead faint.

Wow, it's longer than my other chapters. At least I think it is. Two pages in Word isn't too bad for this story. Considering that it's still morning (barely), and I woke up at five (no exaggeration), I can't be blamed for not wanting to come up with anything else for this story. So it's just like I wrote it a year ago, so there's not much description. Now, please review, or I'll send the Killer after you.


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